


After the Battle

by quinngrey



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 10:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinngrey/pseuds/quinngrey
Summary: In which, following the defeat of the Noldorin armies, Melkor rides his high of glory by fucking Mairon senseless.





	After the Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tar_Mairon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tar_Mairon/gifts).



> Set between Dagor-nuin-Giliath and Dagor Bragollach, because I wanted a solid win for Melkor and Mairon to celebrate and there wasn't a real good win during the Battles of Beleriand.... So slight canon divergence in the fact that this battle never actually existed but could have happened? Whatever.
> 
> Either way, I received a request for extra rough sex and spanking between my evil bad boys and who am I to refuse? I hope y'all like it because this shit is filthy and delicious.

There was nothing more invigorating that being in the midst of battle. Mairon delighted in the carnality of it all, so different from his usual pristine and orderly way of life. It was perhaps easier with his Master at his side, those fierce dark eyes and muscular arms swinging his hammer about with such glee. The pair of them made quite the vision, covered in dirt, sweat, and oh so much blood as they hobbled back to their great tent. Their opponents hadn’t stood a chance, not that Melkor worried about such a thing to Mairon’s dismay. Although they had lost many, they had prevailed relatively unscathed. 

Wiping his brow, trying to clear the stray strands of his flaming red hair from his face, he could feel the energy of his Master even several paces away from him. His body, this often frustrating form he had chosen, was betraying him with arousal, his head reeling with thoughts of what was to come. Although he knew that they should go over strategy, analyze their maps, determine their remaining army and weapons, allocate provisions accordingly… the Maia was all too aware of the feral grin directed at him. 

The two had barely made it to Melkor’s tent when the blackened hand curled into his hair and dragged him the rest of the way. Hissing in pain, Mairon’s hands automatically went to his Master’s grip to soften the pull, but it hardly mattered. The Vala shoved his lieutenant onto his knees, caring little for the other’s words of protest. It was clear Mairon did not truly object, after all, his lithe fingers working quickly to dispose of the maile and leather that barred his cock from the air. 

Winding, the grip tightened further, Mairon struggled another moment before finally freeing his Master’s erect length. He had nary a breath before a second charred hand went to his jaw, rough fingers forcing his teeth apart as a thick, heavy cock slid into his mouth. Before he could adjust, lips stretched around the intrusion, the head of the member was nudging at the back of his throat. Mairon couldn’t help but gag, hot tears prickling the corners of his eyes. The hand in his hair kept him there, his throat constricting around the cock, nose pressed firmly against Melkor’s groin. He was assaulted by the musk there, sweaty and masculine, and by the powers that be if he didn’t swoon despite himself. 

That forceful grip at last pulled him back, coughing and sputtering as he was finally allowed to breathe, though spit trailed from his lips to the tip of the cock before him. With hazy gaze he lifted his eyes and saw his Master’s grin. Oh, that grin… it was perfect. His lips opened a little more, leaning forward slightly until Melkor took his mouth once again. With hands entwined in his hair, the Vala controlled it all, pulling him in as he thrust into Mairon’s mouth. It took considerable effort at first to relax the muscles there, to not gag on the thickness or the girth, but after a while he found himself giving in with ease. Holding himself up was the hardest part, truly, as his Master pushed all the way down his throat and held him there again and again and again. When at last the telltale twitch of an orgasm approaching alerted Mairon, he was ready for whatever the other would give him, yet Melkor withdrew completely from his mouth, panting softly from the exertion of fucking the Maia’s face, halting his own release. 

Mairon was dizzy, his head spinning as his lips sought out the missing length, groaning weakly his discontent. His throat burned, his lips chapped, and the sheer amount of drool that flowed down his chin and neck was mortifying, and still all he wanted was for his Master’s release. Yet it did not come, and his tear stricken eyes opened, brow furrowed as he tried to ascertain why the other had stopped, whining softly in his confusion. 

Stars blurred his vision as he was slapped, ears ringing as the world spun. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen to the floor, no longer held up by the grip in his hair. His own arousal throbbed in the confines of his leggings, the weight of his leather and steel armour feeling all the more heavy now. Hearing the clatter of armour being removed, he tried to sit up, to make himself useful, to help his Master undress properly, yet he was smacked again, falling harder this time. “My Lord-“ he rasped out, both of his hands planted firmly on the dirt as Mairon tried to get his bearings once again. No sooner had everything stopped spinning did Melkor’s hand grab his hair again, yanking him up before shoving him to stumble forward, tripping on the edge of the fur rug. He fell onto his hands and knees, cursing himself for his clumsiness. 

A foot found his back between the shoulders, forcing him down so his face was against the rug, and for a moment he was grateful that his Master did not take him on the dirt ground instead. Still, he couldn’t help the way the tears spilled. Stupid, stupid tears that burned as they were expelled against his will. Mairon heard the other laugh, only able to imagine it was at him, and the humiliation burned through him, and worse, aroused him. As Melkor’s foot left his back he dared not get up, closing his eyes as he waited. The sound of the Vala getting to his knees only served to make him harder. With a deafening rip, Mairon felt the air against his skin before he realized that the other had torn open his leggings and exposed him. 

He was completely lost. The Maia’s heart pounded heavy in his chest, the weight of his armour holding him down to the ground, and he was lost to the sensations. Excitement coursed through his veins, a fire within him burning brightly. When instead of feeling those delightfully charred fingers probing at his entrance he felt a full palm crash down on his bare arse, however, and he cried out in surprise. A second slap, a third, a fourth. They came down in quick succession until he had lost count, and then stopped. His hips shifted back slightly, swaying in the air subconsciously as though the no longer milky white mounds missed being so abused. 

“Count,” Melkor ordered, his deep voice thick with heedy arousal. “Count aloud for me, Mairon. I want to hear you.”

The hand struck him again, and the Maia whimpered unable to help himself, but even as the hand stilled on him in wait, he croaked out what Melkor wanted to hear. “One-,” he managed, and the slapping begun once more. “Two, ah! Th-fuck-three! Four! Master, plea- ah!” Each strike was harder than the last, stinging and aching, but the other only slowed when he could not get the words out. “Five, six, se-shit-seven!” Quivering beneath his Master’s hand, he knew that tears flowed down his face without care and soaked the rug. It was so much, too much even, and still the Vala made him count until he reached the unholy twenty. His arse was crimson with handprints, the first blossoming of bruising already across the skin. It was then, at last, that Melkor had stilled his hand, caressing the aching, burning flesh with tenderness. 

“Good, Mairon, well done,” he praised, voice almost holding the reverence that the Maia often had when addressing the Vala himself. “Beautiful…”

So far gone was he that he didn’t even heard the pop of a vial being uncorked, though he felt the oil as it slicked down the cleft, over his hole, and dripped down his scrotum. Rough, burnt fingers rubbed circles over the puckered hole there, drawing out a moan from Mairon’s lips. His hips canted backward, desperate and needy for more, but it was clear that was not allowed the moment that Melkor’s other hand gripped his crimson locks once more and pulled his head so that he was very nearly lifted from the ground from the force of it. Apologies fell from his lips, quiet, muttered, begging apologies. “Master, please- ah, please, please, I’m sorry.. sorry, please,” he tried, words cut off as a finger plunged into his tight heat at last. 

Keening at the burn, his breath stopped and eyes screwed tightly shut. The digit worked him open, a second added not a full minute later, scissoring within him. Eru, he ached, but he dared not push back against those glorious fingers lest he lose them again too soon. A third finger snuck in and he moaned so loudly surely the entire encampment heard the sound. Melkor fucked him with his fingers for a long while, longer than usual for sure as the Vala wasn’t known for his patience or for caring particularly about how well prepared Mairon was. So when his hand did retreat, the Maia couldn’t even complain. His entire body trembled, muscles straining to keep the position, and the hand that was still in his hair, though it had slacked, tugged once more with renewed strength until he could hear the strands being plucked out. 

Melkor watched his lieutenant panting for breath, the angle his head was at making it harder to get the air he so desired. The bruised mounds of arse, redder than Mairon’s hair, and his puckered and abused hole… All on display for him. It was a beautiful sight, wanton and debauched, and he had half a mind to drag the other out of the tent for all to see him like this, undone at the Vala’s own hand. Yet his jealousy would not allow it, wanting Mairon all for himself. 

To degrade him further, his Master had leaned close and spit onto his oil slicked entrance before straightening and aligning his rigid cock accordingly. With one quick thrust, Melkor’s entire length seemed to fill him. Mairon’s chest firmly dug into the ground, rug be damned for how little it softened it. He could barely hold himself up, and if his Master’s hand had not secured his hair as it did, he might have lost the battle to stay upright completely. No sooner did the thought cross his mind did the hand force his head down so his teeth bit into his cheek as it hit the ground, filling his mouth with blood. The other hand had gone to his hip, sharp blunt nails biting into the flesh as the other thrust into him with such tenacity and vigor. 

Between pained whimpers, breathless mewls of delight, and desperate moans, the Maia let himself be at the whim of his Master. He was so blissfully unaware of the universe around him, so focused on the agonizing pleasure as the other fucked into him at a hard, quick pace. His legs were beginning to prickle with numbness from the angle, held up only by the nails that bit into his hips, but his Master had released his head to grab the other hip as well. Driving his cock deep into Mairon’s core, flesh slapping against flesh rang out in the tent as Melkor used him for his own gratification. With one final thrust, buried into that yielding flesh all the way to the hilt, his peak crashed over him with a guttural groan. His cock pulsed as he coated the insides of Mairon’s hole with his seed, satiated at last. 

Though he hadn’t anticipated it, how could he as undone and out of his own mind as he was, the curl of charred fingers around his weeping cock was more than he could ever ask for. With his Master still so deep within him it took only a few strokes before he spilled onto the fur rug beneath, already blurred vision fading to blackness as though he had been sent to the Void. 

When Mairon at last came to, Melkor had undressed him from torn clothes and armour and lay him on the bed. Strong hands smoothed salve over his tender, beaten flesh. All of his injuries had also been tended to, it seemed, but he felt naught but the exhaustion that made his bones feel heavier than ever. He was covered with a blanket to keep from the chill, but it was the way those arms pulled him in and wrapped him in an embrace that warmed him. Melkor’s fingers stroked through his hair, though when Mairon blinked his eyes open he saw that his Master’s were closed. The Vala looked at peace, more than he had ever seen him, and with a small smile, he let himself enjoy the moment. Closing his eyes again, he drifted back to sleep in no time at all.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I take requests.
> 
> I am also on tumblr (quinngreyy) and will gladly chat about Tolkien things with anyone.


End file.
